Rite of Wrongs (19 page)

He held her gaze, his hard and immutable in its conviction. “People don’t like to be reminded that there’s more to God than his benevolence.”

Count her among that number. “I can see why.”

T
HIRTY
-N
INE

Thursday, 10:00 a.m.

The next morning saw Miriam and Melvin on their way to talk to Edward Lacey again. Miriam wouldn’t have minded going alone while he hunted down Sameen Shahidi, but after Autumn Carver’s murder, Melvin wanted another crack at Dorothy’s son.

He drove them to the West Houston sporting-goods complex, leaving Miriam to her thoughts while navigating the busy Katy Freeway. It was as if he, too, was girding his loins for what was to come. The silence had her thinking about the value a good partner brought to the table. And wondering if she measured up better for Melvin than she had for Augustine.

Then she stopped thinking about anything but the case.

She hadn’t had enough caffeine for the deep stuff.

Fifteen minutes later, they were climbing the stairs to Edward Lacey’s office. His door was open when they arrived, and he was pacing the grassy green floor, his hands on his hips, his head shaking. When he saw them, he frowned, lifting a finger to his Bluetooth earpiece and muting the call. “I’ll be right with you.”

They waited outside, looking across the vast expanse of the building from their second-story corner vantage point. “The priest give you anything good so far? About the verses?”

“As opposed to what exactly?” Miriam asked, pinning him with a harsh side-eye.

“Rumors will be rumors. Just had to ask,” Melvin said, after clearing his throat.

She turned on him then. “New rumors? Since he’s been in the office? Or are you reaching into the past that needs to stay there?”

All he did was lift his chin and repeat his original question. “What’s he say about the verses from the scenes?”

Damn but she didn’t need this gossip crap. “The first was straight out of the Ten Commandments. The other two were dug out of the details. Or, you know, googled.”

Melvin frowned, obviously not liking the news any more than she had. “Damn. I thought he’d see something we could dig into. An angle we could pursue.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Does he think that’s what happened? Googling? Really? Do
we
think that’s what happened? Rather than the killer being some sort of Bible scholar? Someone who knew where to look in God’s penal code when he decided to punish his victims for their crimes?”

Before Miriam could form a response, Edward appeared at the door. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. What can I do for you, Detectives?”

“Sorry to drop by unannounced, Mr. Lacey, but a few questions have come up in our investigation, and you may be the only one who can answer them.” Melvin was good, stroking Edward’s importance in a way Miriam would never have been able to pull off.

The tension in his expression easing, Edward gestured for them to sit, then circled his desk. Today he was wearing the zebra stripes and fancy kicks she’d expected to see the first time. But still with the Tag Heuer. “I’ll do my best, of course.”

Miriam perched forward on the edge of her chair, her notebook open on her lap. “You told us you’d lost touch with the children your mother had fostered. Did you know at least three of them were still in contact with one another?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “If I wasn’t in touch with them, how would I? Why would I?”

“Can you think of any reason for their staying in contact?” she asked, pushing on without answering him. “Maybe Gina and Autumn shared an apartment after graduation? Maybe Franklin got Gina a job waiting tables? Maybe Autumn let Franklin crash on her couch while he was going to school?”

He looked at her as if her imagination was a lot better than his. “Since I haven’t spoken to any of them in decades, I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Do you know how to reach Corky?” she asked, clicking the end of her pen, her focus on the lists she’d worked on yesterday. “What about Darius? Are you sure you don’t remember Corky’s real name?”

“No, no, and yes. I’m sure.” Edward swiveled his chair to face forward, his forearms on his desk as he looked at each of them in turn. “How many times are we going to go over this?”

It was Melvin’s turn now, and he pulled his own small spiral from his suit coat’s breast pocket. “Do you know a woman named . . .” He flipped through several sheets of paper as if needing the reminder. “Sameen Shahidi?”

“I don’t believe so,” Edward said with a very convincing frown. “Is there a reason I should?”

But Melvin pushed on. “Do your boys see one of the pediatricians at Chestnut Grove Pediatrics?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, and I don’t know what that information has to do with this case. That’s what you said when you came in here. That there was something only I could help you with, right? Wait—” It was all he got out before his face fell. “Has there been another murder? Is that why you’re here?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Melvin said, while Miriam looked on.

She watched as Edward blinked. As the color blanched from his cheeks. As his eyes widened. As he cleared his throat to ask, “Who was it?”

“Autumn Carver,” she said before Melvin could.

“Carver. Yes. That was her name.” He picked up a stress ball from his desk, blew out a heavy breath, and flexed his hand. “I’m sorry to hear that. Truly.”

Miriam wasn’t buying it. She surged forward. “Where were you Monday morning between six and eight?”

This time when he laughed, there wasn’t any humor involved. “Are you kidding me? At six, I was still in bed. At eight, I was probably in the break room grabbing a cream-cheese danish to go with my coffee. I sure as hell wasn’t killing a woman I knew for less than a decade over forty years ago.” He shook his head, looking from her to Melvin. “I hope you’re putting my brother through this same shit.”

“Brother.” The room pulsed with the word and its echo. Miriam thought her head might explode. “You have a brother.”

“Yes. Gordon. He’s six years older than me. His last name is Hollis,” he said, which had Miriam scratching out the
Lacey
she’d just written and replacing it. “He was born to my mother and her first husband. My father did his best to fill the role for Gordon, too, but he wasn’t the easiest kid to deal with. And with his father gone, my mother never got a break.”

Why had none of this come up in their investigation? There’d been no record of Gordon or his father in any of the documents, no mention in any of the interviews. “Where was his father?”

“I never knew. My mother never said. Neither did Gordon.”

So, Dorothy Lacey had been married twice. She’d had one son with each husband. And both men had, what? Vanished into thin air? “What was his father’s name?”

“You’ll have to ask my mother. Or ask Gordon.”

“Do you know where I can find him?” Melvin asked as he and Miriam exchanged a glance.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Of course. He works in maintenance at Caring Hands.”

F
ORTY

Thursday, 12:00 p.m.

Miriam’s heart was pounding as she headed for the SUV passenger’s side door. Her head was pounding, too, as were her ears. The slap of her feet against the parking-lot asphalt sent shock waves up her legs. Any second now, she was going to explode.

How in the hell had this oh-so-tiny tidbit of incredibly vital information slipped through their investigation’s cracks?

Dorothy Lacey had a second biological son. Edward Lacey had a half brother in addition to the five foster siblings with whom he’d grown up. Gordon Hollis worked in maintenance. At Caring Hands. At fucking Caring Hands.

Maintenance departments had all sorts of uses for tarps.

She yanked open the door. She was fuming, furious, her mouth so full of words, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to spit them out. Once she was in the SUV, she started. “How did we miss this? How in the hell did we miss this?”

“C’mon, Miriam,” Melvin said as he started the engine. “Chill—”

“Don’t fucking tell me to chill.” Her blood pressure had to be approaching stroke levels. “There’s another person who grew up in that house. Forget the mysterious Corky and Darius. Dorothy Lacey had another biological son.
And he fucking still lives with her.
”

“Calm down—”

“Jesus, Melvin. I don’t want to calm down. Calm isn’t going to get me anywhere—”

“Miriam!” Her name. Shouted at the top of his voice. It echoed through the vehicle, jolting her already thundering heart.

Good thing Augie wasn’t here for the fire-and-brimstone command. He would’ve added his own. Then again, he might’ve laughed at her incompetence. Because that’s what this was. She had fucked the big one.

“Fine,” she finally said. “I’m calm.”

“Good.” Melvin shifted into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot into traffic. “Now stay that way.”

Somehow she managed to, and although the return drive to Union Park was also made in silence, it wasn’t a comfortable one. Miriam didn’t care. She wasn’t comfortable. She was pissed off . . . at Melvin, at the world. At Augie. At herself.

Most of all at herself.

She wasn’t focused. She was thinking too much about Augie: working with him again, working with him in the past. She was coming up with questions about their history: how, where, and why things—besides the obvious—had gone so wrong.

Judah bringing him in to consult had been a recipe for disaster. Except that wasn’t fair. She was the one baking the cake. She was allowing the distraction. She was letting her attention stray from the case. Enough. She was done. All that existed was the work.

At the senior center, they exited the Yukon on edge, anticipating what they were about to learn. “I feel like I’ve spent more time here these last few weeks than at my own house,” Miriam grumbled, pulling open the front door before Melvin had a chance.

She headed straight for the receptionist window and had her badge in hand when she slid it open herself. “I understand Gordon Hollis works in your maintenance department?”

The woman reached up and opened the window the rest of the way, holding on to it as if staking her claim. “Yes, ma’am. He does.”

“Is he on the premises now? We’d like to speak with him.”

“I’ll page him for you,” she said, reaching for her phone.

Miriam crossed her arms and waited, looking away only when Melvin leaned forward to say, “Thank you.”

Always so polite, her partner, making her feel like a bumbling idiot who couldn’t do her job—a thought that had Miriam whirling back to the woman. “Don’t mention that we’re police. Just tell him he has visitors.”

The receptionist nodded. Her voice came over the intercom, soft and nonthreatening: “Maintenance one to reception, please. Maintenance one to reception.”

The woman gave Miriam a look as if to ask if there would be anything else. Miriam walked off. Melvin followed.

Rubbing his hands together, he moved in close before he spoke. “Don’t go losing your shit. If he’s our guy, you cannot be losing your shit.”

“I know that.” Did he really think she didn’t know that?

“Then don’t forget it. And I say that as a friend even more than as your partner.”

“I got it, okay? I’m good.”

Moments later, a large, burly man entered the lobby from a swinging door marked
S
TAFF
O
NLY
. He was probably six three and 220. And he appeared to be in very good shape for being at least sixty.

He wore stained work boots, dark-blue work pants, with a matching short-sleeve shirt tucked in. His hairy forearms showed off a lot of faded-green tats, though nothing she could make out from here. He was muscled. He was a bit intimidating. His hair, a mix of white and gray, was combed back away from his face.

He was pushing a cart with open tool trays and an extension that held a six-foot ladder upright. Rolled up behind the ladder was a painter’s tarp.

It was yellow.

His expression when he reached the receptionist softened into a smile. He leaned forward as she explained that the people near the window were waiting for him. He used a rag he pulled from his pants pocket to wipe his hands, and walked over.

Don’t say anything about the tarp. Do not say a word.

“Miss Penelope says you all are looking for me?”

There was something about the look on his face, and his diction, the cadence of his words . . . “Thank you for seeing us. I’m Detective Miriam Rome—”

His eyes widened. “Wow, no kidding? I’ve never met a detective before.”

Miriam glanced at Melvin. He smiled at the man who towered over him and held out his hand. “Well, now you’ve met, two. I’m Detective Melvin Stonebridge.”

“This is really exciting,” Gordon said, his voice bubbly. “I can’t wait to tell my mom I met two real-life detectives.”

“Gordon.” Miriam was so thrown, she could barely put her question into words. “Can you tell me how long you’ve worked here at Caring Hands?”

“Oh, sure. I came here when Momma did.”

“So, you live here,” Miriam said, digging her notebook from her crossbody and clicking the end of her pen. “In the senior center.”

Gordon bobbed his head. “But it’s okay, because Momma pays for both our rooms. And I’m old enough to be a senior, too.”

“Where is your room, Gordon?” Melvin asked, his arms crossed as he rocked back on his heels. “Is it near your mother’s?”

“No, she lives in the part where José works, so he can take care of her. My rooms are in the back where I have all my supplies.” He gave a funny little laugh. “I don’t live in the room with the supplies. They’re down the hall by the exit where the mower and weed eater are.”

Melvin waved his arm as he moved to the windows. “Do you do all the lawn work?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

Reaching over, Melvin patted Gordon’s shoulder. “The flower beds look wonderful. You do a great job. I hope they pay you well.”

Another funny little laugh. “I don’t need a lot of money. Momma takes care of everything.”

Miriam opened her notebook and jotted herself a note:
Check Dorothy Lacey’s finances.
And then she asked, “But you do get paid for your maintenance work, don’t you? And the landscaping?”

“Oh, sure. Momma made sure of that.”

She thought for a moment, unsure what to ask next. “Do you have a car, Gordon? Or does the center have a maintenance truck?”

“Just the truck. That’s what I drive when I need to go somewhere. Though I don’t do that very often. Edward always takes Momma when she needs to go somewhere. Like to church,” he said, then frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Or he did when she was feeling better. I used to go with them. Now we just stay here.”

“You don’t ever leave the premises?”

“Oh, sure. Sometimes I just want a hamburger, you know,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “So I’ll go to the Sonic or McDonald’s. Kurt and me will go fishing sometimes, but he drives when we do. Last time I needed new shoes, he took me to Edward’s store. I don’t like driving that far, and I’m not so good with money for things like that. Have you been to Edward’s store? It is gi
gan
tic,” he said, his eyes growing nearly as large.

Kurt taking Gordon to buy shoes had her wondering about the brothers’ relationship. “Do you see Edward when he visits?”

“Oh, sure. Well, sometimes,” he said, his smile vanishing. “We don’t talk much.”

“Why’s that, Gordon?” Melvin asked, his tone conveying the sort of concern Miriam imagined him using with his kids.

Gordon reached up to scratch at his jaw. “I guess mostly because I don’t like sports too much, and he talks about that a lot.”

“Does your mother have other visitors?”

He looked at Miriam and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m usually not around to see anyone who comes by. I mostly work outside and in the rooms. Like when Mrs. Lampley needed new bulbs for the light by her bed. Or when Mr. Bestleman couldn’t get his toilet unclogged.”

“Has your mother mentioned other visitors? Maybe Autumn or Franklin or Gina?”

“Hey, I know them,” he said, his demeanor brightening at Melvin’s question. “But that was when we were kids. She wasn’t their real mother, so they don’t have to visit like Edward.”

That didn’t mean they didn’t. Or hadn’t. Only that Gordon hadn’t been around to see them. “What about Corky and Darius?” Miriam asked. “Do you remember them?”

“I sure do.”

“Did you know Corky’s real name?”

Gordon shrugged. “We called her Corky. That was who she was.”

“What about any of their last names? Gina’s or Autumn’s? Darius’s, maybe?” Miriam asked, then held her breath.

“Gina was White. I know that because when she came to live with us, Momma fixed up her bedroom with new white sheets. Me and Edward thought it was great to have a sister.” He stopped then, as if struck by another thought. “I don’t remember anything else, though. My room was in the attic, so I didn’t see everyone all the time.”

An attic. In a house. Had it been owned by Gordon’s father instead of Edward’s? Miriam jotted herself a reminder to search for property in the Hollis name. “What about Jeff Gardner? Do you know a man by that name?”

“I don’t think so. Unless he’s the man who comes to see Mr. Gardner in room one-seventeen.”

Gardner was hardly an uncommon surname, but she’d check it out. “I think that’s all I needed to know. Thank you, Mr. Hollis.”

“You can call me Gordon. Or Gordo. Everyone does,” he said, his jovial mood fading into a frown. “Except Frank. He used to call me Lardo. I really didn’t like that. Or Frank. He used to steal food from my plate when Momma wasn’t looking.”

Hmm. So, Frank’s gluttony was past tense? “Thank you, Gordon. You’ve been a big help.”

That returned the grin to the big man’s face. “Do you want to come talk to Momma before you go? I know she’d want to meet you.”

“We have met your mother, Gordo.” Again, Melvin shook Gordon’s hand. “She’s a lovely woman. It must’ve been great growing up with her to guide you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Gordon said, then reached for his cart as if ashamed of the admission, and ducked away. “I should probably get back to work now.”

“Thank you again,” Melvin said, as the maintenance man turned to go. He headed for the exit while Miriam stayed put, her mind whirring.

Meeting Gordon Hollis had raised more questions than she’d had answered. When and how had Dorothy arranged to have him live with her at Caring Hands, and what did it cost her? What had been his relationship with Edward growing up?

Would it be worth going back to talk to the other man to find out? Why had Gordon immediately recognized the names of his foster siblings when Edward had not? How had they all gotten along with Gordon? Had he lived with his mother even after the others had moved on?

“Miriam, you coming?”

“Hold on a second,” she said as Melvin pushed open the door. She turned toward the receptionist window, waiting for the woman Gordon had called Penelope to look up. When it became apparent she had no intention of doing so, Miriam spoke. “Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“Do you keep records of your residents’ visitors?”

“The sign-in logs, you mean? Of course.”

“Can I see those for Dorothy Lacey?”

“Certainly, once I see a subpoena.”

“Thanks,” Miriam said, shrugging as Melvin rolled his eyes. “It was worth a shot.”

“No one gives up anything for free anymore. Not since Netflix and decades’ worth of
Law & Order
to stream.” Once outside, Melvin stopped to put on his sunglasses. “Nice guy. IQ can’t be more than seventy.”

Miriam was less interested in that than what Gordon Hollis had said. “He’s not around to see if his mother has visitors? He doesn’t even talk to his own brother?”

“Does it matter?” Melvin gave her a look. “I’m going to have to say Gordon’s not our guy. And I don’t even have to go out on a limb to do it.”

“You can say anything you want,” she said, heading for the Yukon.

Melvin gave a sharp huff. “Don’t tell me you’re still considering him a suspect.”

She yanked at her door. “I consider everyone a suspect. Until I have a reason not to.”

“You need more of a reason than that interview?” he asked as he opened his.

Miriam didn’t say anything. She needed something. She just wasn’t yet sure what it was.